


Facets of Family

by everencore42



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-08 21:04:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7773328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everencore42/pseuds/everencore42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve builds relationships with his teammates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Facets of Family

It took a while after the attack on New York for them all to settle into their lives together, and once SHIELD fell, Stark Tower became one of the few remaining safe havens. Once Steve wasn't on the run anymore, he came back to the place that felt like home, to the room he'd made his own and the family he'd built out of a team. Now it all felt like second nature, made sense in a way little else did, but back in the shaky days after the attack on New York, none of them had been sure where to turn.

Steve still wasn't sure where it had started, the chain of closenesses that had turned them all into, first, more than a team, and eventually a mutual bubble of safety. At this point, though, he had his ways of being close with every member of the team, and they had their ways of being close with each other, and somehow ... Well, somehow it just worked out.

****

With Natasha, it had started as cautious friendship -- with Natasha, everyone started with cautious friendship -- and it wasn't until after their revelation of Hydra that they'd considered anything else. Being on the run gave them something they hadn't had before, something only they shared. It also gave them time to explore that something, feel out its edges and decide what to do with it. And to talk, to explore each other. Steve didn't really feel like he'd known Natasha until those days.

After that, and some discussion, they developed into something they'd never been before. Natasha had plenty of places to be in control, and she'd had more than her share of being controlled and feeling pain. Steve had understood when she'd asked him to take over, but something inside him had known even before she'd asked. He never would have acted on it, but for her request ... But once she asked, he slid into it as though it had been there since they'd met. 

That first time, he did it silently, controlling her with looks and touches -- all careful, almost gentle, but hard as steel. She bent beautifully, willingly, like a sigh. And once she'd bent, he gave. He looked at her, saw how much had been taken from her, and refused her desperate pleas for him to take even more. She shook with it, with the vulnerability and the pleasure, and he rode it out with her, coaxing her through peaks and valleys until they were both exhausted. And then, when the peaks and valleys had ebbed, he held her while she broke under the strain of receiving, held her and stroked her hair and continued giving until they both fell asleep.

He calls her "Tasha" during those times, forbiddingly at first and then softly, like a kiss, toward the end. When she's feeling poetic (when he makes her feel poetic), she quotes Whitman, calls him "O Captain my Captain," and sometimes he growls back, and other times he salutes ironically. When she wants to make him blush, she'll quote the Whitman around others -- even other lines from the poem can bring the blood rushing to his cheeks.

****

With Bruce, it was always comfort. Steve knows the terror and agony of transforming, of feeling your muscles and bones and organs growing and shifting and knowing you're out of control. For him, it happened once. He can't imagine what it's like to have that hanging over your head, to know with every mission that it will happen again.

Bruce has Natasha and Tony for other things, but with Steve he has arms to fall into that never lost their extra girth, a body that started small and became strong. They never feel the need to do more than just that -- share each other's strength, hold each other, silently commiserate. It's simple, and it's perfect.

****

Steve and Tony have never managed to become particularly close, but they've learned to share space, to sit next to each other comfortably while watching television, or to get out of the way on the other's bad day. They've learned to share partners, affection moving seamlessly along multiple axes, smoothed by mutual respect. It's more than peace -- it's companionship.

****

With Pepper, it started slowly as they felt around the edges of Tony's needs, treading carefully to keep everyone safe. Steve sometimes looked at Pepper and saw pieces of Peggy -- the way she pushed back her hair, or her refusal to let anything get in her way, or the understated refinement of her bearing. He loved those pieces, and he loved the other pieces, too, the parts that were wholly and completely Pepper -- her utter patience with Tony and the rest of the team, her love of order and precision, the way she brushed off chairs before she sat down in them.

So, once they'd talked it through, Steve began courting Pepper. He was too old-fashioned to feel complete without romance, and that's what he gave Pepper. He brought her flowers (Nat hated flowers) in huge bunches from stores, or small bouquets of wildflowers he'd picked on a mission. He surprised her (Bruce hated surprises), appearing mid-break with a token of affection or quick kiss on the back of the neck. He cooked for her (Tony preferred restaurants), laboring over elaborate three-course meals or throwing together peanut-butter and jellies with equal enthusiasm.

He could never make himself dance with Pepper, though. She loved dancing with Tony, and suggested it once, turned on music she thought he'd like, and he'd been so ashamed when he'd collapsed into the corner, sob-wracked and limp. She'd known to turn off the music somehow, and she'd sat with him, apologizing and stroking his hair until he could explain -- that dance was for Peggy. He couldn't give it to someone else, even if Peggy would never have it. She'd never asked him to dance again.

****

It took half of the war for Steve to realize that every good commander has a place where they don't have to be strong. With Thor, Steve doesn't have to be strong. It started the night after the battle of New York, after the shawarma, after Steve had helped begin the long process of cleaning up the damage to the city. Thor had seen through Steve's efforts to wave off the team (most of the time, the commander stays strong), had followed him to his quarters and, in tones that were somehow both soft and demanding, talked him through brushing his teeth and getting into bed before tucking him in. Steve hadn't been tucked in since ... Well, it had been at least 90 years.

After he'd had time to recover, they'd fallen into a pattern that had grown more intense and more wonderful. Thor could growl and set Steve's blood on fire, awakening something he hadn't quite known existed. One glance had Steve on his knees, preparing to worship a deity he didn’t believe in. Steve had learned to command, and it was second nature to him, but Thor had it from the womb, and Steve loved to let that wash over him, let the waves overpower his resistance and knock him backwards over and over again.

Thor knew the strain of command, knew it drained Steve (although he'd never admit it), knew Steve needed the solace of submission to find his feet again. He pounded Steve down so he could be small, then held him while he built himself back up, a metaphorical serum in each post-collapse hug. Steve let himself give in, reveled in each shattering apex and in the slow collection of himself afterward.

****

With Bucky, everything was soft. Everything had always been soft. Before the serum, it was soft to protect Steve -- all quiet and low-impact, slow touches and long warm-ups, with occasional pauses for deep breaths. During the war, it was soft because the war was hard, there were enough hard things, and soft was familiar and different at the same time. 

Now? Now it's soft to protect Bucky, to swaddle his broken mind as tightly as possible, to hold his pieces together gently and firmly and keep him safe. It's just like it's always been, even though everything is different. It took less time than Steve thought it would for them to fall back together -- one night after one of Bucky's episodes, Bucky had reached out, and Steve had been there. Steve had always been there, waiting, even when he'd thought Bucky was gone and would never reach again. That night, in the dark, Bucky felt like coming home.


End file.
